


Ashes of memories

by Geremix



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Elemental Magic, Eventually angst (we all know how it´s going to end), Fluff, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pre-Red Plague (The Arcana), Red Plague (The Arcana), maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28672329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geremix/pseuds/Geremix
Summary: Vesuvia is living its darkest hour.The Red plague holds this once glorious city in its tight deadly grip. Hundreds of citizens have died, and more and more are contracting the disease every single day.Eir the Magician is one of them. All those restless days and sleepless nights spent in tending the sick and researching for a cure have repaid them with the deadliest of the awards.Dutiful until the end, Eir has walked on their own legs to the Lazaret, the place where Count Lucio disposes of his sick subjects.And yet, Death is late with her merciful kiss, and lets Eir linger in their suffering.In a last, selfish act, they eventually decide to use their last spark of magic to recall to mind memories of their life, and to let themselves drown in them.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Julian Devorak, NB/M - Relationship, nb/nb - Relationship
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Equilibrium_29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Equilibrium_29/gifts).



> Hello lovely readers, and thanks for tuning in to this humble fic!  
> Just a couple of notes before we start.
> 
> 1- As the summary may suggest, this fic will be a mix of scenes from the present and flashbacks. I will try to mark them with different fonts.  
> Eir’s memories are short episodes plucked from a long timespan. Using the official Arcana timeline (or at least, the one that I've managed to build from playing the game) and my own ideas, I've created a timeline where Eir dies almost 5 years after their first meeting with Asra (where our story begins).  
> Long story short: there’s a lot of timey-whimey stuff going on behind the curtains of this fic, so I will simplify it for you and let you know how much time passes between one memory and the next.
> 
> 2- I've tried to be faithful to the Arcana canon as much as I could, but I couldn't resist in taking some liberties, such as with storyline (as before mentioned) and characters. Hope you'll enjoy my work anyway :)
> 
> 3- Most of this fic is rated for a Teen and Up-audience. There will much likely be scenes with smut and maybe some with a bit of violence. I will of course change the warnings accordingly when I'll decide to have such scenes. I will also put disclaimers and trigger warnings in the notes when needed, so please check those before reading the chapter!
> 
> Thanks again, and enjoy your reading! <3
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE PROLOGUE: blood**

_“Here, drink this.” I speak softly to a little girl as I tentatively bring my cupped hands to her parched lips. I am still able to conjure up small amounts of water from the humidity of my surroundings. It is not much. It won't save her, but at least it will quench her thirst and ease her cough. And with a refreshed throat it will be easier for her to fall asleep. And from there, to finally let go._

_No, I do not have any hopes for her, or for me, or for the dozens of sick people piled up in this room._

_The Lazaret is a place where you come to die. The acrid smell of charred wood and flesh constantly reminds us of that. During my many travels I have visited other lazarets. The idea behind them was to isolate sick and contagious people in order not to spread the disease while the doctors worked on a cure. Most of the patients confined in such places would eventually die, yes, but at least they were taken care of during their last days. They were comforted, even prepared for the inevitable journey ahead._

_Here in Vesuvia, they have abandoned every pretence. We are rubbish crammed in a dumpster, meat stacked up in the pantry, waiting to go directly into the oven._

_The room I have been locked in looks like a warehouse. Cold stone floor and thick stone walls with only inch-wide openings for air and light. This room would have comfortably hosted a party of twenty, but I am quite sure we reached the hundred a few hours ago. We lie so tight against each other that it is impossible not to step onto someone’s limb when you move around the room. The straw piles that were supposed to be our beds have scattered all over the floor and are now soaked in sweat, blood, urine, and various other bodily fluids. The stench of our dying bodies together with the fumes from the crematorium makes the air unbreathable._

_But maybe it is better this way. Maybe it will speed up the process for some._

_The girl has sipped the last of the water from my hands and has finally drowsed off, lulled by my gentle caresses. I slowly rise and try to reach an old man who is convulsing with cough at the other side of the room._

_We have been literally dumped. Rubbish, putrid flesh, discards. Nobody feeds us. Nobody comes to tend the sickest and ease their pain. Nobody cares any longer._

_The only healthy people I have seen around are the guards and undertakers. Fully armoured in beaked masks and protective clothes, they only come in to inspect the room three times a day and pick up the dead. They are deaf to our pleas and cries. And if anybody has enough strength to reach for them and touch their ankles, they beat them up bloody with a stick._

_That is the mercy of Count Lucio._

_Although I am becoming weaker by the hour, I am trying to comfort those who are most in pain. Where my already drained magic fails, only tender words and gestures come to my assistance. Even on the brink of death, everyone I touch smiles back at me. They seem grateful, at peace, content even._

_I just feel wretched and guilty. A failure._

_I had pledged my powers and my life to protect this town. I had renounced everything in order to find a cure. Even him._

_All for nothing._

_I am dying. I deserve to die. These small, pathetic acts of kindness won't redeem me, they won't erase what I have done._

_And yet I am mad with rage. Why me? Why now? It's not fair! I needed more time, just some more time… Not for me, for them! To defeat this bloody plague, to save this town. Then I would have died, and gladly._

_I am halfway through the room when I am seized by a violent cough. I double up and get down on all fours, my whole body convulsing._

_I clasp my throat. Air, I need air._

_I crawl amidst the bodies to the nearest opening in the wall, into which I stick my nose and mouth. I breathe in avidly, maybe too hastily, and the cool evening breeze makes my lungs sting. I put one hand over my mouth and start coughing again. By the time I'm done, my palm is red with droplets of blood._

_I collapse against the wall, my eyes shut. I feel heavy sobs coming up my throat. I should suppress them, since they could trigger even harsher coughs that could eventually choke me. I am trying, but even taking deep breaths hurts._

_Everything hurts nowadays. And I am so tired of hurting. So. Fucking. Tired._

_I decide then to do something selfish. After all, my disgusting, rotten soul is already beyond hope. A small act of selfishness, what difference would it make?_

_I spend my last strains of magic to comfort myself. I close my eyes once more, breathe in, and try to reach within me, to the hearth where my magical energy once burned like a bonfire. Cooling, weakly shimmering embers are all that is left now. I can no longer reach my personal gate through the flames, but I am not asking that much. Some image, any fragment of memory that could ease my pain would do._

_I poke at the ashes to reveal a handful of glowing embers. Each one of them is a memory of a life that now seems long gone. A life that was full of wonder, and hope, and love._

_The life I shared with Asra._

_I pull out the first gleaming coal and let the memory wash over me._


	2. Five years earlier

_30th November_

It was the last night of the Dances, and Vesuvia was a turmoil of lights, sounds, and colours. Count Lucio had decided to throw a week-long party to honour his new wife, who would have arrived at the palace exactly that evening. The air was fresh and warm, bringing the promise of a mild and fruitful summer.

I was enjoying the festivities roaming around the streets. Every road and canal were lit with multicolour paper lanterns and lively torches, every building draped with fine silks and glittering cloths. Since the merchants had been allowed to keep their shops open until late at night, stalls and stands of every kind crowded the pavements, the squares and even the canal banks.

I had always loved the cheerful and lively town of Vesuvia, but I loved it even more in moments like this, when it came alive with colours, and laughter, and the inebriating scent of spices. The pure joy of these people engulfed me and wrapped me like a warm embrace, rekindling my own happiness. It was during such a night that I felt like I really belonged there, within that colourful, loud, happy family. I felt at home.

And yet, I never mingled too much. I never took part in parades, never danced, never played games in the streets.

I preferred to celebrate in my own private, inconspicuous way. With a wide blue shawl wrapped around the messy bush of my dark brown hair, I moved silently from stand to stand to taste bites of pastries, examine herbs and stones, haggle and fill my satchel with new, interesting material to bring to the shop.

In less than twenty-four hours I would have left town, and I felt the gnawing anxiety of leaving my aunt alone with an empty storage. It was a completely groundless feeling, of course: for months I had worked to replenish our stocks at home and at the shop. Moreover, she had agreed to take on an assistant in my stead. And yet, concern still lingered in my heart, and I went on shopping. The natural apprehension of a loving child, I guess.

I would even have run my last errands and visited our patients to say my goodbyes and provide them with their treatments, but nobody was ever going to be at home that night. Too bad, I thought with a wide grin on my lips as I easily hopped on a large canal boat that hosted a quartet of joyful musicians.

I sat behind the other spectators and leaned on a wooden box. I closed my eyes and breathed in the salty air, a bit stingy with the scent of fish and seaweed. In less than a day I would have been standing on the deck of a real ship, taking in with big gulps the much fresher ocean breeze. I would have been soaring to a new adventure. Finally, the master of my own course, finally free.

The flatboat was just turning the corner into the largest canal that led to Vesuvia’s main square, when a loud crack followed by a distressed cry interrupted the music. I stood up and looked at my left. In a narrow side canal dimly lit by torchlight, a small gondola had apparently gotten stuck in old wooden planks and other debris that stood out from the too shallow water. The vessel bore a young gondolier and a lady dressed in a featherlight gown and many colourful stoles.

“Look at what you have done, you fool!” she cried out in squeaky, panicked voice. “I told you we would never make it through this… this… sewer! It doesn’t take a native Vesuvian to understand that!”

I squinted. It seemed like the lady was fretting around some trunks and bags that were about to fall overboard.

“How am I supposed to reach the palace with all my luggage? I am going to be late for the Masquerade! I knew I should have just taken a carriage…. Why, why do you people like your canals this much?”

The young boy in charge of the gondola looked more mortified by the minute, petrified with consternation.

As the flatboat stopped and its passengers looked with curiosity to the other side of the canal, I took off my slippers, channelled my magic to my feet and step overboard. As soon as my bare soles touched the water, its energy responded to mine with equal intensity. The fluid pushed right back at my feet, thus allowing me to walk on it without plunging down.

Ignoring the sounds of awe and the cheers behind me, I hurried to the lady in distress and landed on the bank right beside her.

“Can I be of some assistance, milady?” I asked politely, offering her my hand right away. “You seem to be stuck…”

“You think?!” she barked back at me without raising a single eye, still fussing with her luggage.

Although baffled and slightly amused by her response, I stood and waited for her to cool down and realize that I had actually come to help her. The woman snorted, sighed, and fixed the gold and green shawl that covered her head.

“I beg your pardon, kind citizen of Vesuvia. This shipwreck had me forget my manners.” She stood and seemed to finally regain her posture. Her back strait, her chest out, her head tilted upwards and her hands rested delicately under her waist. Her ruby eyes shone like hard and distant gems under the blazing torches. Accompanied by the rich clothes and the jewels on her wrists and neck, her figure made without doubt a royal display. I felt instinctively compelled to avert my gaze and bow my head.

“I would gladly accept your assistance.” She went on with scepticism “But… may I ask you how do you plan to deliver us? You are but one person, and this boat seems to weigh a big deal, even without us on it.”

I smirked under my scarf. “Just have a little faith, milady. You won´t be disappointed.”

I squatted and put my hands in the cool water. I closed my eyes and let my magic once more call out for the energy of the water. It responded as always, like a docile and loving friend. It let me manipulate it and form it as I wished. I then moved my hands upwards, and the water in the canal swelled up, freeing the bottom of the gondola, and letting the vessel slip through.

As I rose again and dried my hands on my outworn shirt, they lady´s wide and incredulous eyes met mine. I had made her speechless. Judging by her awkward face and stuttering voice, magic was probably not something she was used to.

“My my… had I known I was in the presence of a great Magician, I would have paid my respects properly.” She smiled and made a slow and elegant courtesy. It seemed deeply genuine. “I thank you most sincerely, great Magician. I won´t forget your providential help in my hour of need. You will be generously compensated.” For the very first time she searched for my eyes with curiosity. “May I know the name of my saviour?”

I bowed in return and placed one hand over my chest. “Eir Edevane. I am no great Magician, milady, just your humble servant. And I ask for no payment, please. Just the pleasure of knowing your name.”

I saw a flicker of amusement on her lips. “Only my name? Oh why, your wish shall be granted at once. I am Princess Nadia Satrinava of Prakra, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

My breath got stuck in my throat as my face began to burn bright red. _That_ Princess Nadia? Count Lucio´s new wife? Of course! Who else could dress so richly and move so regally? Had I just been a cheeky show-off with the new Countess of Vesuvia? And in my worst attire, nonetheless. Raggedy and filthy like a beggar, only armed with my clumsy curtsies.

I felt so embarrassed I just wanted to melt and blend with the canal water beside me.

I got down on one knee at once. “Milady, my Countess… I beg your pardon. I… am such a fool. I should have known. I should have….”

“Please, dear Eir, do not fuss for me.” She replied with kindness. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I am truly grateful for your help.” She sighed, sounding discouraged. “I need you to ask one more favour of you, though. Could you please point us to the palace? I fear I am terribly late for my own party.”

Slowly raising my gaze, I met hers, tired but hopeful. My face relaxed, and I smiled back with kindness. Then I reached the water once more and plunged my hands in.

“This current will lead you to it. Let the water carry you, and you will be at the palace in no time.” As I said so, the gondola began to stir and gently slide away from the bank where I stood.

“Thank you. Thank you again, dear friend.” Nadia exclaimed as she drifted slowly away. “I hope we shall meet again soon. In the meantime, please, accept this as a token of my gratitude.”

Before I could reply, I found myself catching a bracelet with both hands. It was a simple circlet of shiny copper, with swirling ends that never met. I looked up and parted my lips to speak, but she had already vanished among the crowd.

I kept thinking about Nadia all the way home. As I walked down the narrow alleys and crossed the canals that led to my neighbourhood, I replayed our encounter in my head all over again. Should I have told her that I was about to leave the city? That maybe months would have passed before we could meet again? She seemed genuinely happy to have met me, and so keen to see me again soon. What if she summoned me and requested my services and I was not there?

Or… was she, really? Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe that was something aristocrats do to show their gratitude: say nice things they do not actually mean. After all, what use would Princess Nadia have of me, a wannabe-magician who played with herbs and concoctions? Sure, I was known in town, but she would certainly summon the most talented and trusted magicians of Prakra to her aid. Not me.

And I had dared to feel important for one second. I was such a fool.

I finally turned the last corner and came out into the Dolphin crossroad. My house and my aunt´s shop laid just on the other side of the street, now crowded with stalls. There were noticeably less people than in the main town square, but still the neighbourhood was much more lively than usual.

I sighed. I would have spent another sleepless night.

I was about to cross the street when a particular stand caught my eye. It was small, just a round table with a purple cloth, really, crammed into an archway. It was surrounded by darkness, and yet that particular spot seemed to shine of its own light. It seemed as if the bright shimmer of iridescent light was coming directly from the person sitting behind the table. I blinked. Maybe my eyes were growing tired. Surely it must have been the candles.

I stopped and I squinted. It was a boy. A scrawny boy about my age, or maybe younger. He was shuffling a deck of cards in his hands with great dexterity. He finally raised his gaze and caught me staring. He smiled, I blushed.

“Do you want me to read your fortune, kind traveller?” The alley was so narrow he did not even need to shout. His voice was soft, still childish.

I looked around in confusion. Was he talking to me? Of course he was, it was just the two of us in that corner of the street.

“I… I am no traveller.” I replied, suddenly at a loss for words. What was happening to me? Had I been so startled to completely lose my wits?

“I… I was just going home. I am almost there…”

“And would you have retired without having your fortune told? It´s bad luck to turn away a fortune teller on such a magical night, my friend.” He insisted, still casually sitting behind his table, still shuffling his cards as easily and lovingly as one could stroke a cat.

“I am just warning you, because I care about your good fortune, my friend.”

My lips pursed at once in a bemused grin. I knew this kind of people. They swarmed into Vesuvia like flies on honey for every festival or holiday. Where there were people partying, there came charlatans and fortune tellers along. People who could bedazzle the simple-minded with colourful cards and glittering powders and made them believe they could get rid of all their problems for the right number of golden coins.

I had never been judgemental. Theirs was a business like any other. For what I cared, they could make their living in whichever way they liked. The real problem came when they went away and left my aunt and me to deal with all their unsatisfied costumers. How many cleansing draughts had I to make for all those who had been intoxicated by fake love potions. How many threats did we get, how many people shouting ´Y´all bloody charlatans, you lot! You should all burn at the stake!´

“Is that so?” I replied, not unkindly, but with a drop of arrogance. I put my hands in my pockets and crossed the alley to the boy´s little stall. “And I guess that only your accurate reading could banish all the bad luck from my life, o great Magician.”

“You guessed right, my friend.” He finally put his deck of cards on the table, stood up and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. “With my readings I can guarantee good fortune and prosperity for a whole year. I am no charlatan, my friend. My customers have never complained.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I replied, resting my hands on either side of the table.

I leaned slightly forward, and aided by candlelight I could finally look the fortune teller right in the eye.

His eyes were huge, and deep purple, contoured by a fine line of black kohl. His face looked small under the bush of silvery white hair, fluffy and tousled just like mine.

Slightly shorter than me, he looked even thinner and younger in the oversized tunic that he was wearing. Just like mine, his clothes were also torn and overused. Everything in his surroundings looked old and worn, except for the deck of cards. They looked as good as new, carefully painted by hand, precious.

I felt a pang of pity right in my stomach. Charlatan or no charlatan, this boy was not here for the gold. He was here for bread, for enough money to survive the next day.

I searched for his eyes again, and almost startled when I saw them staring wide back at me, curious but almost panicked, as though they had seen a ghost from the past.

I thought he was silently hoping for some coin.

I patted my purse. Nothing sounded back in response.

“I… I am really sorry. I don’t have anything left.” I finally whispered, all the arrogance in my voice gone. I tried to crack a smile. “But the night is still young, you know? Plenty of folks coming through here. I´m sure someone else would love to get your blessing tarot reading.”

I smiled again, shrugged, and turned around.

“Don´t you want a reading?”

His voice reached out to me again. It sounded confused this time, as if he had been surprised by my leaving.

I shrugged again. “I told you, I don’t have any money.”

“But I don’t want your money. I just want to read the cards for you” he insisted “Please.”

I sighed and widened my smile at him.

“Alright then. But I must warn you, I don’t actually believe in tarot cards and crystal balls. I am a more… down to earth kind of person.”

“We´ll see what the cards have to say about that, too.” he smirked and quickly put another chair at the little round table.

I took a sit and crossed my legs while the white-haired boy shuffled the deck once more and spread the cards in an arch before me.

“Pick three of them.” He asked, almost commanded.

I looked at the cards, genuinely impressed by how skilful that boy´s hands were. He would have made a good assistant at the shop, especially in mixing all the concoctions that my aunt´s shaky hands ever so often spilled or dropped.

I hastily picked three cards, two from each end of the arch and one in the middle. Maybe I should have at least faked some thoughtfulness, or concentration. I just let my overly precise mind pick cards that laid at equal length from one another.

“Right… then we´ll put these away…” he murmured while re-stacking the cards that had not been picked. The chosen ones, he moved to the centre of the table, closer to each other.

“We´ll begin with the card that represents your past…” His voice dropped to a more thoughtful and serious tone as the boy flipped the card at my left “…the Tower”.

I had to lean in closer and take a proper look at the card. I could see everything except a tower. Some crumbling building in the background maybe, yes, but the first thing that caught my eye was the silhouette of this agonizing stag, its antlers on fire and huge red beetles crawling all over it.

“And it is upright. It´s a good card!”

I had to bite my upper lip in order not to laugh straight at that poor boy´s face. Good card? That macabre display of disaster and ruin?

I simply folded my arms under my chest and let him carry on with his explanation. He looked so focused and thoughtful, it would have been mean to mock him so.

“Yours has been a troublesome past. Your life as you knew it crumbled around you. You had to restart anew, to build something from the ashes of your past…but the Tower gave you strength, and you succeeded. You have risen from the ruins of your past better and stronger than before.”

His words made me smile for a moment. It was a warm smile, just the one that such nice and kind words aimed to. I grinned and cast down my eyes. The boy was good, actually good in what that tarot business was all about, making the listener feel special and understood.

“Yeah, well… that could be said about half of the people of Vesuvia.” I shrugged. “What do the cards say about my present, then?”

The boy grinned back, then regained his focus and flipped the card in the middle. This one was much prettier and more pleasant to see. It pictured a slightly humanised ginger cat with a flower crown on its head. It was kneeling on the ground and pouring water from a jug. In the background there was a night sky full of stars.

“The Star, upright once again. Once again, a very nice card.” the boy explained “It tells me what a wonderful person you are. From the ashes of your past, you´ve managed to rise and to cast a bright light on everything and everyone that comes in your way. You light is very precious, my friend, because it brings joy and serenity. You should believe in this light, cherish it, and continue to share it.”

I found myself blushing heavily at these new words, and this time it was harder to shake myself out of the reverie of the tarots. This boy maybe knew who I was, or at least what I did for a living. It was without any doubt the nicest compliment that I had ever received, but probably just derived from the fact that I helped people with my magic.

I lifted my eyes and was about to make another witty reply, but my surprised gaze fastened on the boy. Or better, on the air around him, now shimmering with an iridescent light of pale lilac.

The same light I had seen from afar the first time I had turned the corner and spotted him. That was no candlelight halo. That was an aura, a magical aura.

Was he… doing magic?

Before I could utter a single word, he went on flipping the third card. It was even more peculiar than the previous two. It pictured two bright coloured humanized lizards, or maybe snakes, embracing. They looked like a tender couple.

“Uuh, the lovers, upright!” the boy cooed, his aura sparkling even brighter. “You are very lucky indeed, my friend.”

I blinked briefly at the card, then went on staring at the white-haired boy again. For once, the surprise and confusion on my face were utterly genuine, although not caused by the result of the cards.

“You certainly are much loved by the people here in Vesuvia. But you have very few connections that are strong and true. You should cherish those, my friend. Cherish them truly, and they will become even stronger.” The young fortune teller searched my gaze and winked, a wicked grin on his full lips. “You should be ready, my friend. The love of your life is not far away. Look out for them, because they are going to turn your life upside down before you even know it.”

Astonishment and confusion now mixed up with a fierce blush on my cheeks.

“How… how do you do it? How do you know these things?” I murmured.

He shrugged and grinned. “It´s not me. It´s the cards. They know everything. I´m just a simple reader.”

“No, you´re not!” I almost shouted “These cards… they are just pieces of paper!” I toned my voice down, whispering between my teeth. “The answers come from you, I can see it. Are you a magician? How can you look in people´s minds like this? What kind of spell do you use?”

My curiosity had become borderline aggressive. I didn´t know other Magicians in Vesuvia besides my aunt. I knew nobles and rich merchants sometimes invited famous Magicians from far-away countries, but I had never met one of them. I had never met a boy my age that could do magic.

“Pieces of paper? Do no try your fortune, my friend!” the boy replied with a drop of resentment. He rose and began quickly to stash away the cards, as if he wanted to protect them. “The Arcana are very powerful entities… and very touchy at times. And very, very magical. Just like you… and me.” He grinned again.

“So you _do_ magic! I knew it!” I slammed my fist at the table. “Please tell me! What is your name? What are the Arcana? How did you learn to do this? Please, please! I didn’t want to offend you, I am sorry!”

I tried to stop him, but the scrawny boy had already turned his back on me.

“You´ll get your answers soon enough. The Arcana tell me we shall meet again very soon. Good night for now… Eir Edevane.”

He flashed a smile back at me when he said my name, then he vanished into the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

_1 st December_

I woke up early the next morning. My body screamed at me to turn around and go back to sleep. I had had quite a rough night, tossing and turning beneath the sheets, dreaming about the mysterious tarot boy.

And yet, my brain was more awake than ever, excited and thrilled for the day that was about to begin. My eighteenth birthday, the very first day of my new life.

That night, after welcoming my aunts’ new assistant and guiding them through the fundamentals of their job, I would have boarded the merchant vessel Atlanta and sailed off to new adventures. No plans, no destinations: just me, my bag, and a compass.

To wait until I was eighteen had been a small concession to my aunt, who had been very hard to persuade. Since I would not wait until my magic was ripe enough, she said, I should at least wait until I would be of age and legally become entitled to do whatever I pleased with my life.

So, there was I, on the morning of my eighteenth birthday, sitting swiftly upright on my mattress like I had never done before, a wide smile on my lips. I stood up, pushed back the blue linen curtains that barely filtered the light from the window, and looked back at my room.

It was a mess. Colourful shawls and other pieces of clothing hanged from shelves and laid on the wooden floor, books had been left open on the table, sheets of scribbled paper scattered everywhere, together with dried flowers and herbs. Entering my room, one could have in good faith wondered whether it was really me the same diligent person who always kept the shop spotless and tidy. Truth be told, I had learnt on my own skin the importance of keeping my workspace clean and organized. My aunt had taught me very few but important rules about our job, and I followed them like prayerbook. But my room was _my_ space to dream, experiment, try, and as long as I knew where everything was, nobody had the right to tell me to tidy up.

I sighed, leaned with my back on the window and rubbed my face with my hand.

“I guess I should so something about it, after all…” I mumbled, still half drowsy. Since I would have been away for quite a long time, my aunt and I had decided to give the new assistant my room. It was only fair, we lived in quite small quarters. And just because I could handle my mess, it did not mean I should have imposed it on another human being.

I began tidying up at a slow pace, picking up every item ever so carefully, looking at them with a fond smile, trying to remember the story behind them. My behaviour was not however completely melancholy-driven. I was also trying to evaluate my possessions and make a mental packing list of what I absolutely could not leave without. There were hard decisions to be made. Too hard, I soon realized, to be made on an empty stomach.

Leaving half of my room still untidy, I put on a long orange tunic and went barefoot to have some breakfast.

I did not have to walk long. Our living quarters were all crammed on the first floor of the house, while the shop and the laboratory where on the ground floor. My room and my aunt´s laid on either side of the bathroom and faced an open living space. The kitchen was squeezed in an alcove on the left. It had a beaded curtain instead of a door. On the right, just next to the staircase that led to the shop, my aunt had redecorated the balcony into an enclosed terrace, with lanterns, cushions, a tea table and indoor plants. A miniature copy of our living room, to be fair, but without the couch, the dining table, and the bookshelves.

The smell of freshly baked buns and chai tea welcomed me in, together with the sweetest smile I had ever knew.

“Good morning, my sweet baby angel!” my aunt croaked from behind the table. She finished to set the table and reached to hold me in a warm embrace. She could not squeeze much with her thin arms, but that did not make her hugs less loving.

“And happy birthday, my child! Oh, you’ve grown up already!” she pinched my cheek, and _there_ it hurt. No matter how old and frail she might have become, she still had the mightiest cheek-pinch of all Vesuvia. What was with old ladies and pinching cheeks?

“It seems like yesterday that you were so tiny you could hide under my skirt. And now look at you… so tall, so beautiful!” she stood on her tiptoes to kiss both my cheeks and ruffle my bushy uncombed hair “Your grandmother, my dear sister, may she rest in Might… you have her eyes, you know? The same big, glittering eyes, green as the treetops. But this adorable button nose, that is your grandpa’s.” She went on caressing my face as she talked “I just cannot understand how this pretty face hasn´t got themselves a boyfriend or girlfriend yet…“

I blushed but kept smiling. “Auntie… please… I didn’t even have my breakfast…” I mumbled.

“Of course, of course, my dear! I am sorry! I am just an old babbling, emotional woman. Come, take a sit and have some tea. Besides, plenty of hearts to steal on your journey ahead. Who cares about Vesuvians anymore?”

I snorted, sat, and helped myself with two buns, cream cheese, a tangerine and a cup of tea.

I was halfway through my second slice of bread when my aunt went to her room and came back holding a bundle of cloth. It was wrapped with a glittering satin ribbon and looked much like a birthday gift.

“Here you are, sweet pea… happy birthday!” She said with a tender voice as she placed the object right beside my plate.

I stared at it in confusion, still holding by breakfast in mid-air.

“What? No… auntie, you shouldn’t have!” I tried to protest, although curiosity had already taken over me “I told you I didn’t want any presents…”

“Oh, nonsense dear! Everybody should get a present on their birthday! Besides, this is a special occasion! You don’t turn eighteen every day. And I wanted to get you something useful for your journey south.”

I flashed a half-knowing, half-dreading look first at her, then at the bundle, which I started to unwrap quickly but carefully. Underneath the wrapping paper laid a pile of heavy woollen cloth. I stood up and unfolded it, revealing a long, forest green cloak, with brass clasps on the front and a pointed hood.

I gaped at it with wonder and disbelief, although guilt was already gnawing at my heart. That cloak was finely crafted, made of the thickest and warmest wool you could find in Vesuvia. I knew that because I had seen it at the market the week before. And it hurt me knowing how much it had costed. She must have paid almost as much as I did for my passage on the Atlanta, which had drained a year worth of my savings.

I feared she would have done something like this. That was why I had told her I did not want presents. And yet, there it was, the most beautiful cloak in town. And it was mine.

“Oh… aunt Tamanna… You shouldn’t have… really, you shouldn’t…” I whispered as I carefully turned the cloak in my hands. I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

“Nonsense, nonsense! Your health is worth more than any sum of money. Do you think I would have let you go with just those paper-thin pants and blouses of yours? You are not catching a cold, child. Not under my watch!” she smiled warmly.

I looked at her with glossy eyes, and she opened her arms without saying a word. I left the cloak on the chair and almost launched myself at her, hugging her tight.

“Thank you so much, auntie, thank you!” I murmured, doing my best to hold in my tears. “You know I love you, right? And I’m going to miss you so much, so very much!”

She gently stroked my back. “I know, Eir. And I love you immensely, always remember that.” She whispered back. We stayed silent for a moment, then she loosened her embrace and patted my cheek “Now go and eat up you breakfast, you’ve got a busy day ahead. Have you tidied up your room yet?”

“Half of it. And I still have to pack my bag.” I answered as I sat back down and sipped my tea.

“Well then, you should hurry up and get busy, child. The new assistant arrives at noon, and I want everything to be in order when he comes. We want to look our best, don’t we? Nobody will ever want to stay here if they have to sleep in your messy room.”

I grunted and swallowed the last bite of bread. “Yes, ma’am. I get it.” I grinned “I’m on it.”

After swallowing the last slice of tangerine and drinking up my tea, I did the dishes and stopped by to groom Sylja, the stove salamander. That was by far my favourite chore, and judging by the look in her glowing eyes, it was hers as well.

Stove salamanders do not usually require much caretaking: they live at the bottom of your stove, they eat every kind of inflammable material which they then transform into fire, and they leave just cinders as waste. In theory, it was very easy to keep a stove salamander alive and well. In practice, our little Sylja was our family’s spoiled pet. We fed her only freshly chopped wood splinters, swiped the bottom of the stove every evening, and I groomed her daily to make sure that the flaming pores of her skin would always remain clean from dust and ashes. This to ensure the good quality of the fire, but also to prevent breathing problems and skin diseases.

I knelt beside the stove and rubbed my hands together. My skin began to glow, as if incandescent, and soon both my hands were covered in simmering blue flames. I opened the bottom drawer of the stove, and picked up a glowing-red salamander, almost as long as my forearm.

“Good morning Sylja! Thanks for breakfast!”

She greeted me back with a sound that resembled the grinding of rusty gearwheels, and settled on my bare arm as I began to gently stroke her skin, from her head to the point of her tail.

“You’re a lucky girl today, you know that? You get an extra grooming in honour of our special guest. We all must look our best. And you, you’ll see to behave like a proper lady salamander. This person is going to take care of you while I’m gone. So be gentle and try to cooperate.”

I talked to her with tender voice, and she cooed back at me, sounding almost sad.

“I know, I know… I’m going to miss you too, Sylja.” I playfully scratched her belly. “But I need you here to watch over aunt Tamanna. You know she often forgets the pots on the stove, and doesn’t heat her room properly… I am counting on you to keep her safe. And if the new assistant does something bad, you go and set his pants on fire, alright?”

The stove salamander crackled joyfully, stomped her little feet as if in a tiny dance, then went back into her stove. I quenched my hands and finally went to tidy up my room.

By noon, my room was spotless, and my bag was ready. Since my brand-new cloak had taken half of the space, I had packed only a couple of comfortable change of clothes. The remaining contents of the bag consisted in books, mostly dictionaries and manuals, and a first-aid kit with herbs and concoctions of my own brewing. I had emptied my room and locked up the rest of my belongings in a chest, so that they would not be in the way of our guest.

The only clothes that remained out of the chest were those my aunt had handpicked for me to wear. I would have looked marvellous in those, she said. She wanted me to look nice and festive, so that our guest would get a proper welcome, but at the same time she knew perfectly well my aversion for frivolous and unpractical clothes. We had then settled for a sleeveless white linen shirt, my favourite pair of baggy trousers, black slippers and an emerald green stola with golden embroidery, an old birthday present.

I tried unsuccessfully to comb my hair, then trotted downstairs and placed myself in front of the shop counter. Aunt Tamanna had already gone out to meet the new assistant at the crossroad and show him in. I was supposed to wait, but my whole body was restless. I was fidgeting, standing on tiptoe, tracing the wooden counter back and forth with my left fingers, breathing hard. On one hand, I was thrilled by this new encounter, and could not wait to meet the person that my perfectionist aunt had deemed suitable enough to help her run the shop. On the other, I dreaded it. What if my aunt had been mistaken, and our guest would have revealed himself to be a complete disaster? What if I did not like him? What if he was dangerous?

“And here we are! Come in, come in, you are most welcome!” I heard aunt Tamanna croak in her broken vesuvian as her silhouette approached the open door “I would like for you to meet my most precious and talented helper, my sister’s grandchild, Eir Edevane.” She gestured towards me, and then again at our guest. “Eir, I present to you mister Alnazar. I have chosen him as my new assistant.”

“Please, ma’am. Mister Alnazar was my father. I’m Asra, simply Asra.” Said a familiar voice.

My aunt shut the door, and as the blinding light of the midday sun released my sight I saw him, smiling at me.

The scrawny boy with tousled white hair and deep purple eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zan zan zaaaaan!  
> It started with one chapter for a whole day, it ended up with three.  
> I am truly sorry, but here you have the first part.  
> I am enjoying this very much! :)
> 
> Love <3


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